


A Way Out

by banamas



Category: The Maze Runner (2014)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Spoilers, Suicide, idk what else to put i've never used this site lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banamas/pseuds/banamas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS AHEAD :: AU where Newt actually dies in his attempted suicide. Minho's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Way Out

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah probably shouldn't read this if you didn't know about all that stuff with Newt. I tried to mix in things from the book and the movie, but it's more like the movie's elements just because I liked it more than the books lmao. Also got a little lazier near the end so it's not as good but!! it's done so oh well!!

     Fastening his boot straps until they gave his feet little room to breathe, Minho sat up in his hammock as the first few birds chirped from over the wall. Sparks from the sun were only beginning to show from the top of the wall, but he was already dressed and ready to work. There wasn’t a moment of daylight he could waste with sleeping in or having a meal with the guys. Instead, he quietly stretched under the canopy of the trees renewed for the season, that the Gladers could only assume to be Spring from the discoloration of the leaves months ago. Twisting his body to the left, he faced some snoring boys, ready to fall out of their own hammocks, while turning to the right was the sight of the open, empty Glade. The early glimpses of sunlight bounced off the untouched dew that rested on the wild, uncut grass, disappearing under Minho’s shadow as he trudged through toward the west gate, tying his holster tightly around his chest. It’d been about two years since he’d first made the accessory after running through the maze for a year with only a knife in his boot and tools to map in any pockets, but he still didn’t feel comfortable with it on. For some reason, it felt suffocating to wear such a thing, but it did come in handy. At least now his knife wouldn’t be leaving tiny scratches all over his leg or tearing through his pants as he moved throughout the maze.  
     About twenty meters from the closed exit, the runner slowed his pace until he reached the old log sitting between the intimidating doors and the small village they had created near the lift that had brought them to this hell. It wasn’t the log that was of any importance to Minho, but it was just where he waited with his Keeper for the doors to open for their daily excursion. The boy was already sitting there waiting, staring off at the doors while he nibbled at some unleavened bread he took before the cooks could even wake up to make anything. Climbing over the log, Minho sat on it next to his baby-faced senior, taking some of the bread before the kid could even greet him. Usually Minho tried to scare the kid to get one of his obnoxious “bloody hell” reactions, but lately he’d given up with how often the boy was lost in his own world upon his approach.  
     “Couldn’t steal some fruit… not even a tomato, Newt?” Minho whined about his poor choice for breakfast today, gorging it down regardless. His cheeks stuffed full like some rodent, the younger boy nudged Newt sitting on the ground with his leg. Newt chuckled a bit at the kid’s stuffed face, but pulled a leg to his chest and hid the rest away from him, picking at it slowly.  
     “Just didn’t feel like it today, y’know?” Newt shrugged while Minho laughed between chewing.  
     He swallowed, “Not much room to be picky around here.” Sliding down next to the guy, he stared off at the wall in wait as well, silently hoping that it wouldn’t open today so he could go back to sleep for the rest of the day. Running for hours every day was exhausting beyond any of the other Gladers’ ideas.  
     There were maybe three or so other runners aside from Newt and Minho, but they hadn’t been there for more than a year, so they still weren’t used to rising before the sun. The two always found themselves the only conscious things within the maze at this time, at least until they heard a cry from a griever every once in a while. Then again, Minho never considered those things to be animals; he’d never seen one in his life, but they were more like nightmares than a living thing. However, today it was pretty quiet aside from some cicadas and birds that they’d grown to tune out at this point. Sometimes they could hear Frypan getting up and starting up some sort of broth for the morning, the smells burning their noses with want right before they had to leave for the day.  
     “Want the rest?” Newt handed out the rest of the bread toward his friend, the younger boy taking it without hesitation and biting right into the rest, claiming it like some predatory animal. He thought maybe Newt would laugh at him or make fun of his lack of manners, but the kid just kept staring at the wall.  
     Minho swallowed a chunk of the bread and his hesitation to ask, “You excited for today’s rounds or what?” He was half-joking, but the other boy’s brow twitched in his glare. He was glaring straight at the doors like anyone would at such an awful reminder of their situation, but something was strange about his gaze. It was like Newt was looking straight through the doors, through the maze entirely, to the world they imagined outside of this place. Scoffing, Minho took another bite. “We already know what’s gonna happen: we’re gonna run around the same sections and not make any progress. Today’s number 6 right? It’ll be like the same exact path for 6 last week. The same exact shucking pattern, and we run it every week.” He finished off the bread, dusting off crumbs from his dirty hands before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and leaning against the dead bark. “We must look like some pathetic shucks every night we come back. Nothing new to map.”  
     Facing Minho, eyes squinted slightly from the bright dawn light peaking from behind the walls, Newt laughed briefly and shook his head once. “Probably.” Minho would have laughed with him if the boy didn’t continue, “But we still gotta look. There has to be some way out.” Picking at the drying grass, Newt ended in silence for minutes until a creaking sounded off among the Glade and he stood up. Brushing off the dirt from his pants, Minho stood with him and they walked toward the noisy entryway, splitting apart to reveal the familiar walls within covered in vines, leaves, and webs. Before the two entered, joined by the three taking their time to meet up with them from the village, Newt fixed the holster over his chest, as it was always a bit too large for his tiny frame, looking straight into the maze with that strange gaze of his. “We have to find something.” Minho wanted to nod or agree with him, but he’d pretty much abandoned any thoughts like that for a while now. He could only wonder how Newt was so positive about their situation, knowing there had been nothing new to map for months now and there had been no other signs of change since then. That perseverance was exactly what separated a Keeper like Newt from a normal runner like himself.  
     Though perseverance alone couldn’t get them out of here. Another day done and nothing new to report. The runners passed back through the gate before sundown and cooled off on their own, Minho heading straight to the Map Room to keep face that they actually hadn’t just retraced their steps for the hundredth time with nothing new to add. Newt followed shortly after, but said nothing as they “discussed” their paths that day. From outside the makeshift secret quarters, the groaning of the maze sounded off and in moments the dull sound of rock meeting rock signified the day’s end. Though Minho still had some, albeit redundant, information to relay to the Keeper, Newt seemed incredibly disinterested, distant even. Before Minho could say another word to get his attention, the senior stood straight, undoing his holster and holding it at his side while his other hand scratched at his nose.  
     “You hungry? Should probably get some dinner before all that’s left are scraps.” His voice was strained, almost raspy, and Minho pinned this on how much he must’ve ran that day, the air scraping at his throat like it did his own.  
     Nodding, the younger boy agreed and maneuvered around the table they’d finished the map on, Newt following after until they were both walking through the empty woods side by side. Minho felt an awkwardness creeping over him the longer they walked together wordlessly and wondered if he should break the silence. He coughed to clear his throat, masked by the crunching of sticks and leaves under their boots, and made some glances at Newt. Maybe Newt was angry at him, he thought, and was giving him the silent treatment. It wasn’t impossible to do something childish like that, they were all children after all. Though, it still bothered Minho, so eventually his bluntness won out.  
     “You mad at me? At how we didn’t get anything done today, again?” He wiped some sweat from his own forehead and started up a slight hill near the edge of the forest.  
     “I’m not.” Newt’s reply was simple, but his straightforwardness almost threw Minho off. Usually he’d tried to make a jab at Minho for being stupid, that he was just begging for attention from his senior, but today he didn’t even bother.  
     Minho kept walking, ending up a few paces ahead of the boy without a thought. “You sure seem like it.”  
     “Well… sorry.” Newt carried himself up the hill and eventually caught up to Minho as they entered the clearing. “Even if you didn’t find something today, you still have to run tomorrow.” Minho would’ve groaned and bemoaned the seemingly pointless task, but held his breath when the boy walked off ahead of him to the others sitting around a fire eating.  
     Newt took a plate of whatever was on the menu today and took his spot next to their leader Alby. The two were talking like usual, laughing and enjoying each other’s company for the evening, which was more than Minho could say lately during their runs. Minho himself grabbed a plate and headed back to his hammock alone, scarfing the stuff down before some of the others returned to their own spots nearby for rest. Minho always headed to bed before the others, all of the runners except their Keeper did since they needed the shut-eye. Newt stayed up with their leader as they made their rounds within the Glade for the night. It was only natural for the second-in-command, but tonight, from what Minho could tell, he stayed up as long as he could with Alby. Minho slowly fell into a deep sleep watching the two sitting by that dead log, laughing to himself while his last conscious thought of finding the two still sitting there in the morning played out in his head.

     As usual, Minho woke with the first few birds, chirping away from their nests atop the walls in the maze. If there was one thing he was thankful for that night, it was that no Grievers had woke him up with their monstrous wailing. Though after he had strapped his boots and fastened his holster around his body, he could hardly keep such idle bliss with their next run approaching. Yawning once, the boy trudged through the dewy grass toward the log to wait, sunlight bleeding through the sky and turning it a soft purple as the stars began disappearing. Minho slowed as he came closer to the log, bare and quiet without Newt sitting by it waiting for him. He looked around the log a few times and settled his hands over his holster straps, confused about where the kid was. Maybe Newt was sick or tired from staying up with Alby all night. Serves him right, Minho thought, since he should know better than to stay up so late messing around when he of all people needed the most rest. Crawling over the log, he sat and waited for the Keeper, the dawn light peering from the other side of the wall as the sun rose from behind. His shadow trailed directly in front of him and stretched across the grass as it started to dry. Yet, Newt still hadn’t shown up. The other runners began to rise from their hammocks and get ready and before he knew it the doors were opening to the maze for today. Minho stood up and looked back at the village briefly, scanning over the sleeping Gladers for a moment with confusion, but also annoyance since he hadn’t had a meal yet. Regardless, the boy knew he had to keep running for the day and set off toward the gate alone.  
     It was when he was near the gate that his stomach felt heavy and flipped over, though not from hunger. No, as the boy slowed toward the door something had caught his eye. Near the wall beside the gate there was somebody sleeping. Minho convinced himself the boy had to be sleeping, even though the longer he stared the more he came to realize his chest wasn’t moving up and down. Feet moving on their own, Minho stepped nearer and nearer to the body, recognizing the dirtied white pullover and curly blonde strands of hair that were dipped in a crimson color that made Minho nauseous. When he was finally close enough to make out a face, he did the only thing he could ever do around here. Minho ran.  
     Running straight to the boy on the ground, Minho slid onto his knees beside him and screamed out, “Newt! Newt, no… No, no, no, no…” He breathed in once and the awful smell of blood made him shiver. Muttering in denial under his breath, his heart beat wildly while his hands shook in front of him. He reached out toward his friend motionless before him, unconscious. No, Minho thought, Newt is…  
     He screamed out again, louder than before, while some of the other runners and Gladers started toward the two. “Someone help!” Minho’s voice echoed around the morning Glade, responded with muffled concerns from the growing commotion near the village. Before he knew it, Alby was running toward them, Gally and Frypan and the others following him with washed out faces and widened eyes. Minho didn’t dare look back down at Newt on the ground, the glimpses he’d made already much too tortuous. His fists were clenched around Newt’s shirt when Alby and the others had reached them, most stopping a fair distance away from the body while Alby was the only one to rush to his side. Ripping his hands back from the boy, Minho collapsed when the leader had dropped to his knees and desperately held onto his friend. Minho’s eyes were burning with a need to cry, but no tears came as he stared at the tragic sight of his two seniors. He was too shocked at the sight of tears streaming down Alby’s cheeks, the sounds of their no-nonsense leader in genuine pain revealing a side of the boy he’d never seen before.  
     While Minho was practically afraid to touch the boy, Alby had scooped Newt’s torso into his arms. Holding his head so delicately, he kept the boy pressed into his chest, fingers digging into the red-stained backside of the boy’s pullover like there was nothing to hold onto anymore. Suddenly, Minho couldn’t hold it any longer and turned away, barely crawling a foot back before he vomited on the base of the wall. Seeing the cracked skull of his dear friend when Alby had lifted him from the ground was too much for the runner’s stomach to bear with. Hand pressed against the cold stone, his arm shook with little strength while he tried to stand and compose himself.  
     Breath steadying, Minho watched as some med-jacks arrived with a makeshift stretcher of branches and skins. He leaned against the wall and watched in exhaustion as a few boys tried to pry Newt from Alby’s arms. It was obvious there was nothing they could do, yet they still struggled to take him back to their infirmary like they could somehow tie up those gashes in his head, ankle, and back and he would be fine. The runner didn’t agree with them taking him, but he was just a runner, he didn’t know what was best in a situation like this. All he knew was how to run, not how to bring his friend back to life. Finally, Alby had stood up and with Newt in his arms, had moved him onto the stretcher, Newt’s body limp and unreactive to his touch. At this point everyone in the Glade could see what happened as the med-jacks carried Newt’s body through the clearing to their quarters, all lost in the same state of shock as Minho. Frypan was sitting on the log, rubbing his hands over his head again and again while Gally approached Alby with hands placed unsteadily on his waist, but didn’t have anything to possibly say to the disturbed boy. Unsure of his own right in the matter, Minho moved toward the leader and gripped Alby’s shoulder, trying to mask his own uneasiness with strength.  
     “A-Alby.” He hesitated and looked away quickly before forcing himself to stare at the boy. “We should go ask the med-jacks how it happened.”  
     “He jumped, Minho.” Alby was staring down at his hands, oddly firm though they were covered in dirt and the other boy’s blood. With how fresh it seemed Minho had to wonder how long the poor kid was sitting out here without anyone noticing. “I can’t believe he did that…” the boy muttered under his breath, sending an even worse chill down the runner’s back. Alby dropped his hands at his sides and looked up at Minho, tears dried on his cheeks and brow furrowed while he tried to control his emotions. “Why are you still here? You’re losing daylight.” Minho let go of his shoulder as he was taken aback. He wanted him to run after all this? The longer he stared down Alby, the more painfully intent his words became and eventually the younger boy looked away, toward the maze that was open and quiet, waiting for him. “You have to run the maze today.” Alby’s struggle was still there in his voice, but suppressed under a commanding tone that Minho found himself obeying. Gripping the straps of his holster with his rigid fingers, he wrung the anger and frustration from his body and did all he could do in the situation.  
     Minho ran into the maze. He ran and ran until he passed several sections and entered the Blades alone. All the while, Alby’s command mixed with Newt’s from the night before. He had to run the maze, no matter what. Even if they didn’t find anything, he ran. Even if Newt had…  
     Minho tripped over himself and rolled several feet across the barren cement floor. Lying still for minutes, after breathing in the cold dust and dirt for minutes, the boy finally felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He gripped at the floor under him, grasping nothing while his whining and choking echoed from the daunting metallic Blades standing over him, almost mocking his fragile state. They maze couldn’t just take his friend’s life, but it had to witness him looking so pathetic about it too. And suddenly, Minho’s sadness turned into anger; anger at the maze for existing and for hurting him so much. He pounded his fists into the ground until the knuckles bled, grabbing rocks to throw nowhere, and screaming curses at the maze and the people behind it for doing something so terrible, until his voice went hoarse. Standing straight, he breathed heavy, his head fallen back while he stared at the sky above. He didn’t even know how long he’d been out here running and crying, but he’d had enough.  
     The boy took a few steps on his path back toward the Glade when a thought occurred to him. Maybe he should just stay out here until a Griever got him. Thinking long and hard, Minho seriously considered the notion among the quiet of the maze, until Newt’s voice echoed in his head, “you still have to run tomorrow.” With every step he took, the message replayed in his head until he was uttering it himself between short breaths, quickening his pace into a jog, then a run while chanting his friend’s last words to him again and again. Eventually Minho found himself yelling the words as he passed through the maze with ease, struggling with one last chant with his hoarse voice before he turned the corner to the Glade. He stopped at the entryway and caught his breath, mouth hung open in surprise and exhaustion when he realized that everyone else, the fielders and builders and slicers and all the others were running their routines and doing their jobs. Balling his hands into fists, Minho jogged toward the village when he was called over by one of the greenies.  
     “Minho! Alby wants to see you.”  
     The boy paused in his tracks, looking around briefly before answering, though how normal the kid was after the events of the day really unsettled him. “What for, where is he?”  
     The kid avoided his glance after the question, looking around at the ground, then toward the building in the corner of the Glade. “He’s in there. Saw the other Keepers head that way too. Guess they want you for a meeting.” Minho followed the kid’s finger and peered over at the building, not very anxious to see Alby or any of the others again after this morning.  
     Still panting from his run, Minho walked to the meeting, trying to force himself to focus on the more usual things it could be about, but ending up lost in his new memories. His mouth was dry, his lips stuck together like they were glued, and his nostrils flared from his heavy intakes of air. As he was walking the groans from the maze sounded off and the doors began to close, though no one seemed to care at that point. They were all too focused on keeping face amid the current tragedy to have time for the maze. Minho wished he could’ve avoided thinking about the maze as well, but his duty as a runner, his duty to Newt and the others made it impossible. He had to face the maze constantly and now he also had to face this painful reminder of what the maze was capable of just as often.  
     Briefly, the runner looked toward the wall they had found Newt by, catching a glimpse of the names they had each carved into the wall by the village forum. He stopped in front of the door to the building, fists clenched around his holster straps while he stared at that wall, at Newt’s name struck through with a line like all the other Gladers who’d been lost in the last three years. Finally steadying his breath, his heart still pounded under his chest with a heavy beat, feeling more and more like it might crush his lungs and suffocate him. Regardless, Minho turned away and opened the door, walking inside to find the Keepers, some standing while others sat obviously hurt, waiting around quietly. Finding it difficult himself to pretend like he was okay, the boy twisted his fingers around the leather of his holster and looked from one kid to another.  
     Within seconds, Alby spoke up from next to a support beam, “Minho, thanks for coming.” His voice was a lot quieter than usual, which tipped Minho off that Alby was the worst off of them all. It was no surprise to any of them though, since the two were the closest among anyone in the Glade. Minho started to wonder if maybe Newt had given any hints to the leader the night he jumped, but choked up at the thoughts and spoke up to forget about it.  
     “What’d you need me for?” The boy found no point in asking what their meeting was about. Everyone in the Glade knew, but no one really wanted to acknowledge it.  
     Alby stood straight and slowly moved toward the kid. “I know it’s sudden, but it has to be done…” Some of the others looked away, but most stared down Minho with strained faces. Alby crossed his arms in front of his chest, his eyes noticeably red now that the boy had a closer look. “We need another Keeper for the runners. You’re the only one that can do it.”  
     “Keeper? Me?” Minho was flabbergasted, but with his mix of experiences and the events of the day made it difficult for him to understand how he felt about the idea. He wanted to be mad at Alby and the others for talking about duties instead of mourning like all the others, but he controlled himself when Alby stepped closer.  
     “Minho, please…” Alby stood in front of the boy and reached out, grabbing his shoulder like Minho had done earlier that morning. This time though, he stared straight into the boy’s eyes. “I need to know if I can trust you.”  
     Usually Alby was intimidating, sometimes cold from how he spoke to the others, but here was a vulnerability Minho had never seen before. Alby probably wanted to scream and blame the maze even more than Minho had earlier, but as the leader he couldn’t. This was the most difficult time for them right now and everyone turned to someone like Alby for help, a reassuring hope they could cling to. Now as he looked the boy face to face, heard his trembling voice and felt his quivering hands, Minho knew better. He understood that this was something that needed Minho’s part just as much as anyone else. Nodding in acceptance, Minho unclenched his holster and reached out, patting the boy’s shoulder while looking at the others and nodding to each one.  
     Alby nodded along and stepped away, looking to everyone and crossing his arms before his chest again. “Good that. You guys get some rest then.” The boy dismissed them all and hesitantly the rest of the boys in the room moved out, not looking or speaking to each other in fear they’d break down or be the asshole to bring Newt’s death up.  
     Still not used to the ways the Keepers worked, Minho followed behind them all, though stopped when Alby called his name from the middle of the forum. Turning on his heel, the boy glanced over, but kept his eyes on the other’s feet as they moved closer to him again. Quietly, Alby held out something toward the boy and when Minho looked up, his eyes widened in shock. The boy was holding Newt’s holster out to him, expecting him to take it. Minho reached out and held it in both his hands, sliding his fingers over the worn leather and looking up at Alby with obvious confusion.  
     “Give that to whoever you think deserves it.” Alby looked away and moved past him, heading out the door when he paused, holding the door open for the dusk light to blind Minho temporarily. He barely made out Alby’s face in that moment, but he definitely heard him clearly when he added, “Find us that way out.”  
     Watching as the boy left him the door closed him off from the rest of the Glade, the maze, and what felt like time itself. Minho stared down at the accessory in his hands and thought about what Alby wanted from him, about how much Newt wanted to get them out of this place. Some spots appeared on the leather and the Keeper blinked to stop his crying. “We’re getting out of here Newt. All of us.” Drying his eyes with his dirtied fist, he turned around and left the room, mumbling to himself that he would run tomorrow too.


End file.
